Goddaughters and Black Russians
by metacognitive
Summary: /'If you so much as look at her the wrong way you'll find yourself with your back against the wall, neck jerked up at an impossible angle, and her voice in your ear, "Just who the ---- do you think you are?"'/ Rated for language. Drabble. Revised.


**Summary: /'If you so much as look at her the wrong way you'll find yourself with your back against the wall, neck jerked up at an impossible angle, and her voice in your ear, "Just who the ---- do you think you are?"'/ Rated for language. ****Drabble****.**

**This is NOT like those stories were someone comes to ****save**** Leah from herself, and then she refuses and the person who went to get her lets her. I will NOT write a story like that because, in my opinion, Leah does not NEED saving, nor does she want it, which is why she refuses. This is Leah from an outsider's point of view, a stranger who knows absolutely nothing about her. ****That's**** it.**

**On that note, 30 Kisses by ****nikkaRa**** is a very good story made of ****drabbles**** about Leah. ****Sochyeah****, go check out.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, its ****Steph's****.**

**Oh, and the drinks mentioned are alcoholic beverages; They are, in order: the Goddaughter (also known as a Godchild); made of Amaretto, Vodka and cream or half-and-half; the Black Russian; made of vodka and Kahlúa; and the Mind Eraser; made of vodka, Kahlúa, and tonic water over ice. It's gulped through a large straw in one shot**

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**Goddaughters and Black Russians**

_"Alcohol is a very patient drug. It will wait for the alcoholic to pick it up one more time" _

_~~Mercedes __McCambridge_

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She's out in that corner, drinking her life away. Vodka, amaretto, sherry. Offer her a Mind Eraser and she'll toss you a dirty look before snatching it from your grasp and gulping it in one swig.

You watch her from the counter, wondering why such a pretty lady would be there drowning in her sorrow- _why_ she would have any sorrow. Some guy walks up to her, tries to make small talk. Moron.

Trying to get lucky, eh? Well it isn't going to happen.

She glares at him, hazel eyes boring into his, and suddenly he backs off, makes hightail out of there.

You've seen her around here before. You don't know her story, you don't want to know. Anything that can do that to a person is better left untouched, forgotten. Except this girl, who can't be more than twenty, and is already trying to destroy herself.

Damn, she's pretty.

But you've seen her in action. Seen her knock out a guy with one punch after he touched something he shouldn't have. It didn't surprise you. She seems likes the type of girl who'd sooner kick your ass than take the time to decide whether or not you're worth it.

If you so much as look at her the wrong way you'll find yourself with your back against the wall, neck jerked up at an impossible angle, and her voice in your ear, "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"

She catches you staring and scowls; for a second, you wonder how long it'll take her to kill you. However, it disappears, and she's smirking now. Teasing you, the way her eyes seem to dance as she returns the stare, making her eyebrows rise, making fun of all of it.

Ignore it.

You continue to gaze at her, head cocked, thinking about the most random things in the world- about what her home life is like; does she argue with her parents? Did she turn out the opposite of what they wanted for her? Did her boyfriend cheat on her?

Pathetic. That's what you are. Some creep, thinking about how people you don't even know- people you don't even _care_ about- live, what their life is like. How sick.

There you are, looking at some stranger like she's something at a museum, meant to be stared at. She's the perfect piece of art. You're absorbed in these thoughts, and others, about the trash you've seen in this place and how she doesn't fit it, how she should be at home, in her man's arms, and-

And then, just like that, she's gone. You look around, shocked- how the fuck did she go so fast? She was there five seconds ago, you swear. For some unfathomable reason, you're worried. But then again, it's not like you know her, or her story.

It's not like she means anything.

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End file.
